


Mending the Gap

by SimiXiamara1



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimiXiamara1/pseuds/SimiXiamara1
Summary: Post-Blood CommunionArmand has realized that some things are more important than harboring old resentments and grudges. He nearly lost everything all over again, and he's not about to waste his second chance.*This work is a Christmas Gift*
Relationships: Armand/Marius de Romanus
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Mending the Gap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morbidromantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidromantic/gifts).



It was a quiet unease - he wasn't entirely sure how best to approach this. For so long he'd held on to so much bitterness. So much - resentment. Regret. Fear. He knew that if he gave in - then he would lose himself. Everything that he had become. Five-hundred years... melted away into nothing. But then - the possibility had been ripped away from him, and he was left wondering: why he had been fighting it so hard? Was he such a spectacular person now that change was beyond him? Was he really as happy now with who he was if it meant sacrificing everything that was? 

And so Armand found himself standing outside of the exalted rooms of the Prime Minister of the Court of Vampires. He was quiet - hesitating. Why was he hesitating? Since when had he been a timid and meek thing? Never. Not even when he was human. He'd broken down doors with axes, not stood before them mewling like a declawed kitten. He straightened himself up, steeling his shoulders, and raised his hand to knock. But no, why should he knock? He was the favorite. He knew this. He had always been the favorite. No matter how many others there were or would ever be: he was the favorite. 

He knew that the room was devoid of anyone else but his specific target. So why should he knock? He lowered his hand down to the doorknob. Twisting it with purpose and stepping into the room. There at the desk he sat, scrawling across one of his many leather-bound blank journals as he had done all those years ago in Venice in a long-dead language. He closed the door behind him, leaning onto them. He waited for the scrawling pen to stop, for blue eyes to raise from the page to look at him. His face was determined, he could see the confusion on the face of his old Master. Of course, Marius couldn't read him. Armand was never more glad for it then.

He strode forward, calculated steps well measured in his mind before his foot ever struck the ground. Marius seemed to move in slow motion to him, turning his seat and chair to face him, still appearing confused. Armand watched the lips part, heard his name come from those marbled lips. *Armand*. No, it was wrong. In this moment, for this night, he was not Armand. His gait widened, quickened, and he was suddenly running. Faster than the human eye could detect, yet he knew it would not phase his old Master as he leapt while only halfway across the room. Launching himself at the child of the millenia.

Arms came around his smaller waist as his own arms circled tightly around the strong shoulders of his Maker, fingers pushing into hair hard, pulling and trying in vain to crawl into the space that Marius currently occupied. His face was buried into Marius's neck, hiding the tears that streamed from his cheeks, teeth gritting together sounding like rocks sliding against one another as he bit back the pitiful sob that threatened to escape. Marius's arms were holding him tightly, one around his waist, the other now up to cup the back of his head. 

"Amadeo..."

Yes, that name was better suited to him now. For he was not Armand, 500 year old former coven master. He was a scared young boy who had thought he had lost everything all over again. He found himself kissing at Marius's neck and jaw almost frantically, hands sliding over his shoulders to feel the firmness, reminding himself that this was not some twisted dream, that Marius had not been killed by Rhoshamandes. That he had not perished at the hand of that lunatic all because he had goaded Benedict to die. He had been unnecessarily cruel, he knew that now, and yet he was glad. Glad that Marius had not suffered for it.

His lips found Marius's, hungrily pressing into him, needing to taste him again, and made a soft mewling sound that he'd sworn he'd restrain when those lips opened to accept his tongue readily. In fact, Marius's hands now moved over his own smaller form in a manner just as harried. Nothing from the past mattered. He'd been so stupid to keep this rift between them. He'd almost lost everything. Again. He couldn't stand it. Fingers pulled at the red coat that Marius wore. It was the wrong texture though. Not velvet, but more modern, he didn't care. The fabric ripped beneath his hurried, grasping fingers.

The sound of tearing fabric then became everything as his own clothes and Marius's wound up in tatters upon the floor. Armand couldn't even remember them moving, but he suddenly found himself on the desk. Marius moved much quicker than he did, almost as he would to a mortal. But Armand didn't mind, he was desperate for the contact, fingers sliding over exposed flesh that was hard as marble, cool to his touch, yet familiar. Oh so familiar. His legs wrapped around narrow hips, his heels digging into the firm flesh of his Maker's backside, raising his own hips to collide with those of his maker in frantic movements.

He felt a hand on his chest, pressing him down, silently begging him to be patient. Armand looked up at Marius as he straightened, eyes dark with lust, he could see the barely contained sexual energy practically radiating off of Marius, his muscles coiled like that of a predatorial feline preparing to pounce. Yet he was holding back. His eyes flickering over Armand's form as if taking him in. Armand's chest rose and fell with elevated breathing, his own heartrate completely outpacing Marius's slow, rhythmic beating. 

"Master?" Armand breathed softly. It was almost like it unlocked something. The predator was unleashed. Marius nearly lunged forward, mouth latching on to Armand's throat, fangs sinking into young flesh. Armand gasped, head turning automatically and one hand moved to cradle Marius's head and the other rose up to brush over his shoulders, holding onto him. Marius straightened, lifting Armand with him like he was nothing, as in the old days, and was moving them again. Armand barely noticed. He was floating, on cloud nine, his blood flowing into Marius's mouth. He barely noticed as he was pressed into the soft duvet of Marius's bed, and only became truly aware of it when the fangs were pulled from his throat.

He was a bit hazy, looking up at Marius, his lips painted a soft pink from the remnants of his blood. Armands fingers brushed over those lips, coating them in his own blood then pushing them past Marius's lips and watching as his Maker sucked at the droplets from the tips of his fingers. So fixated was he on Marius's face, the feeling of that tongue on the pads of his fingers, that he didn't even notice what Marius's hands were doing until he felt a cool, firm digit slick with - something - press into his body. He gasped, eyes widening before the finger curled, seeking, and then there were stars that danced across his vision.

He hadn't been in this position for quite some time, and he'd nearly forgotten what it was like. The giving of control in this manner was unfamiliar to him... he was always in control. Always. Until now. And he found himself unable to even formulate the energy to care. He gave himself to the pleasure, feeling next another digit... and another, twisting, turning, stretching, pulling noises from his lips that had been long lost to him. Then, almost as soon as they came, they were gone, and replaced with something much more satisfying. 

A cry passed over his parted lips, though whether it was in pleasure, joy, or some other emotion, not even Armand could tell. He was brimming over with so many different feelings. All he knew was that he didn't ever want to feel the rift between them again, he clutched to his Maker, desperately trying to eliminate any gaps between them as Marius's hips rolled, pressing into him ever harder, faster, until the pleasure was all he could feel. Marius's hand came to the back of his head once more, pressing it to his throat. 

"Drink, Amadeo." 

And as he had so many years ago, he did. Fangs slicing easily into the flesh of his throat, and a soft moan came into his ear from Marius's lips, he drank of the ancient blood. Drank until he didn't think he could anymore, pulling away and gasping for air that he didn't really need, pleasure surging through him as he cried out, nails digging into strong shoulders and drawing even more blood as he found his release in Marius's arms, body clenching tightly around him until Marius allowed himself to reach his own end. 

Marius held himself above Armand as he spent himself, then slowly pulled back just enough that he could turn them, rolling onto his and Armand moved with him, curling against his side. He looked up, Marius's eyes were closed, a soft smile on his lips. Armand kissed his shoulder, resting his hear there, trailing his fingers over the firm chest of his Maker. He could hear Marius's breathing even out... then finally stop as he fell off to the most natural kind of sleep that a vampire could have, and still, Armand lay there, curled against him, desperate to ring as much time as he could like this before the darkness pulled him under. 

As the sun rose up slowly, he felt Marius's hand on his shoulder tighten, knowing that he'd finally come from his slumber just in time for Armand to lose the battle he fought with the sun. His heart jerked, fingers curling against his chest. "Don't leave me," he whispered softly with all the energy he could muster.

"I'll never leave you, Amadeo."


End file.
